Barbie Wilde is probably best known to horror fans as the female Cenobite from Hellbound: Hellraiser II. Aside from her acting and dancing work, she's also a horror author, having previously written a number of short stories. Her first novel is titled The Venus Complex and was released late last year. If you're interested in learning more, she has provided us with an excerpt to share with Daily Dead readers.
"After surviving a car accident that kills his wife, Art History Professor Michael Friday becomes obsessed with Forensic Psychologist Dr Elene Shepperd. Consumed by his sexual fantasies and frustrations, Michael orchestrates a serial killing spree with an unusual art signature in the hope of being asked to help with the investigation, because he knows Elene will be called in to advise the investigating detective, Sgt. Frank Bianchi. (Dating by murder may seem a bit extreme, but then Michael is an extreme kind of guy.) Michael records all his thoughts, deeds, fantasies and dreams in his journal, so everything in The Venus Complex is from his POV"
Excerpt from The Venus Complex
by Barbie Wilde“Most modern men want sex and can’t have it. They want success and never get it.
They want money and never earn enough. Everybody has desires and nobody—
Except the psychopathic few— Has the guts to go out and just take what they want.”
—Professor Michael FridayEntry 84:
Another night, another dream. In this dream, I am Frank, God knows why. I have been called to
the scene of a multiple homicide. I’m accompanied by my partner, who bears an uncanny resemblance to my friend Jerry from the KonTiki Klub. We are walking from room to room of a house that is scarily reminiscent of Norman Bates’ home sweet home in Psycho. We’re trying to analyze what has happened.
The scene of the crime is dreadful, with huge Jackson Pollock-like splashes of blood dripping down the walls. In my dream, I seem to have the uncanny ability to decipher the bloodstains and ascertain the order in which the murders occurred, which is crucial to the investigation.
Then I wander into the bathroom and see a vision that sears itself on my dream retinas. Three people are tipped over headfirst into the bathtub: a woman and two children. Their hands are tied behind their backs. As I peek over into the tub, I see that the backs of their heads have all been blown off. Blood is dripping everywhere. Some Picasso has written on the wall in blood, “Fuck You Gertrude.” I back out of the bathroom, calling for my partner, but he has disappeared. I look everywhere for him, as my feelings of apprehension grow. I can’t find him anywhere in the house. I go outside and all the other police cars have left. There is no one around and I am in complete darkness. I stumble around, calling out for my partner, but there is no reply.
There is nothing weirder than dreaming about being in complete darkness. It is as if I had been struck blind.
Then I get the distinct feeling that that I am no longer alone. My partner has reappeared. I suddenly realize with absolute certainty that he is the murderer. I am totally vulnerable. I am in a black void, seeing nothing, hearing nothing, feeling nothing. I sense his presence right behind me.
I willed myself to wake up. I knew I was dreaming and I had to get out of there, but I was suffering from sleep paralysis. It felt like I was at the bottom of a deep black lake and I was slowly struggling to the surface. I finally managed to open my eyes, but I felt so groggy that it was as if some evil force was trying to drag me under the surface of the water again. I had to slap myself in the face to get out of it.
I got up and had a cup of coffee. I didn’t want to go back to sleep for fear of returning to the void. It was too similar to the evil black flood from the Devil’s cock from my earlier dream.
Some people say that Freud is full of crap and that your dreams don’t mean anything. They say that dreams are just the random firings of a dormant brain chewing over the events of the previous day. Well, I think I can safely say that my dreams are a true indication of my disturbed mind. There aren’t any hidden meanings, it’s all there in plain sight . . . lying right there on the surface. Death isn’t a symbol for anything. It is just death.
Sometimes I feel so tired, that I just want to give up. The anger dissipates and I am left feeling empty. Back to being the Zero Man. Mr. Nonentity. As I write that phrase, Zero Man, I can feel myself getting angry again. I want to feel full again. I demand to be filled up and if the only thing that fills me up is murder, then so be it. I am not afraid of death. I am not afraid of dealing death. I am only afraid of being a Zero Man.
A Comet Press Book
First Comet Press Trade Paperback Edition November 2012
The Venus Complex copyright © 2012 by Barbie Wilde All Rights Reserved.
Cover painting copyright © 2012 by Daniele Serra---------
To learn more about The Venus Complex and Barbie Wilde, visit:
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